


Hard Times

by thecarlysutra



Series: Lakota Calendar [3]
Category: Thunderheart (1992)
Genre: Hair-pulling, Light Spanking, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Roughhousing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-15
Updated: 2011-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-15 19:02:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/pseuds/thecarlysutra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY: Mostly name calling and hair pulling.<br/>AUTHOR’S NOTES: For myhappyface, who made the request ages ago. rarepair100 prompt #:8 revenge and Mundane Bingo prompt: rough housing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard Times

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myhappyface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhappyface/gifts).



  
The Sioux had their own calendar, and because it was one of the easiest to say, the first month Ray learned was _Wiotehike Wi_ —Hard Times. It spanned the end of November and most of December, bitter cold months where the snowdrifts would pile up high, blocking the roads, sealing people inside their houses beneath walls of snow and ice.

Ray and Crow Horse were on day three of nature’s house arrest. Ray was getting agitated.

“Goddammit,” Crow Horse growled, swatting Ray away. It was mid-afternoon, but they were still in bed, the warmest place in the house. “You pull my hair again, and I swear—”

Sometimes Ray just couldn’t help himself. He circled Crow Horse’s hair around his fingers and yanked.

Ray was a couple inches taller than Walter, which was negligible when they were in bed together, but Walter was heavier, which wasn’t. Walter bullied Ray onto his belly, pinned him, and gave him a couple sharp smacks to the backside. Ray growled.

It was easy to forget sometimes, when you saw the man so often in his pajamas and sleep hair, or even if you were used to him as a PR Indian with a Rolex and a mid-priced suit, that he had worked most of his life undercover, and that he had combat experience. And not that fancy judo or karate or whatever; real, rough and rumble street fighting. Ray reached back, grabbed Walter, and flipped him over and onto his back, springing on top of him in the same movement. Ray pinned Walter by his wrists, and at the hips, where he moved his own body slowly against Walter’s.

“Now what?” he purred.

Walter bucked beneath him, but Ray’s hold was competent, and Walter couldn’t budge him.

“Goddammit,” Walter said.

Ray pretended he had not heard, and continued to move his hips against Walter’s, rubbing his erection against Walter’s thigh. Every so often he would let his stomach rub over Walter’s tented shorts, but only every so often. Walter writhed beneath Ray’s grasp, beneath his tortuous attentions.

“You son of a bitch,” he growled.

“Sweet talker,” Ray panted. His cheeks were coloring.

The worst thing wasn’t the insufficient touching. It was watching Ray getting close, his skin reddening, his chest heaving with shallow breaths, his lush mouth parting and trembling. Walter felt such tension he could have burst through his skin and not been surprised.

“Jesus, Ray, I’m sorry—please—”

Ray bucked against him as he came, and then collapsed onto Walter’s straining body. Ray slipped one hand between Walter’s shorts and his eager flesh; the other he tangled in Walter’s hair. Ray moved his hand slowly inside Walter’s undershorts, and as he came, Ray gave his hair a long, hard tug.

Fine. He’d let Ray have this one.  



End file.
